Harry Potter and the Folly of Truth
by AhumbleHalofan
Summary: With Sirius Black dead and the prophecy weighing over his head Harry Potter is lost. He finds hope and madness in a book with the barest hint that he could bring his godfather back. He will never be prepared for what he will learn about magic and the very essence of the world. Understand this is rated M for good reasons.
1. Desperation

**I do not own anything in Fullmetal Alchemist nor in the Harry Potter universes. If I did Harry would not have ended up with Ginny.**

**I wrote this because I could find no good crossovers with the Harry Potter universe and the FullMetal Alchemist or at least none that interested me. I hope this will inspire other readers to create their own stories with a similar premise. Understand however that I write toward realism and the characters are teenagers and I will write them as such. **

**While J.K. Rowling is good, I don't agree with her portrayal of the characters at their total lack of cursing or real interest in sex or sexuality at all. I think most of us are fairly interested in the subject of sex.**

* * *

_Of all the greatest triumphs that can be accomplished through the use of Runology, none is more deadly or more arrogant then an attempt to bring back those who are dead._

-From an older copy of "An introduction to Runology" circa. 1890.

* * *

It had been an entire week since the start of Harry Potters sixth year and he had finally had a moment to himself. A moment to finally design, calculate, and sketch out his madness onto a usable surface.

The entire task itself had taken so much longer than a week to actually complete- from his feverish study of every book on runes over the entire summer, to actually procuring all the necessary materials. Harry's entire obsession had all started at the very end of his fifth year, on his train ride from Hogwarts.

* * *

Harry could still remember starring morosely out his compartment's window, while his best friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger sat opposite one another, talking just as little as he was. Hermione was taken up by a small, tattered book, whose title had long since peeled off to illegibility, while Ron was taking up his time reading his favorite comic series, "The Adventures of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle". The entire compartment remained silent with only the turning of the occasional page to break it, until with a huff of irritation, Hermione closed her book with an audible THUNK, and tossed it as hard as she could at Harry's shoulder.

With a squawk of indignation, Harry was drawn out of his circle of depressing thoughts by the sudden painful impact of a heavy object connecting to his shoulder. His head spun around like the crack of a whip, accompanied by the cracking of his neck.

"What the hell Hermione?" said a thoroughly shocked Ronald Weasley.

Hermione responded primly,"I'm not going to just sit here and let him stew there any longer."

"Let the man have some peace, Hermione," said a now shouting Ron. From there they devolved into another one of their bickering sessions as Harry looked on.

The adreneline-fueled sharpness of his mind began to fade as Harry bent forward to pick up the thrown leather missile. The once painful weapon was sprawled open with its pages clearly facing Harry. As he reached down, a phrase caught his attention, "bring back those who are dead."

A kind of all consuming obsession seemed to grip Harry, and he immediately sat up, book in hand, and began to feverishly read. The passages he found made no sense. He flipped back further and still found they were a mystery, so he flipped back even further. When he finally reached the very first introductory part of the small book, things began to seem more his growing surprise, the small book was all about explaining the beginning principles of Runology from its history in the world of magic, its more basic functions and even ethics.

Looking up sharply, Harry interrupted Ron and Hermione's little spat which was promptly becoming a full blown row. "Hermione," said Harry. "Can I borrow your book for the summer? I swear I'll return it." The look on Hermione's face was completely shocked, to say the least. It was truly the rare occasion that Harry showed an interest in learning much less books. Slowly as if still not certain Hermione jerkily nodded her head,

"Of course Harry, but I expect it back."

The first genuine smile graced Harry's lips in what felt a life time, and he nodded back at Hermione in thanks and began to read the book with an even greater fervor. When the train finally reached the station Harry was still too engrossed in the thoughts the book had imparted to him to pay attention as members of the Order of the Phoenix mildly threatened his Aunt and Uncle. Even when he got in the Dursley's family car, 'he let them make their snide remarks and gave them no mind. All he could think was, _maybe he could bring back Sirius_.

Harry's entire summer passed in what felt like a heated fever. Within the first week he had completely read Hermione's book multiple times and could still find no other reference to the dead. He contacted Hermione and asked if she knew how to order books with Owls. She promptly responded by sending a catalog she had of several books he could order.

Immediatly he ordered more advanced books on Runology and he consumed them like a fire in a high wind. To his growing displeasure he found no references to the human dead. Everything in the books was incredible, and he found them informative, but they still did not have what he wanted. Within a month they had given him everything, yet they had and answered nothing.

Again he reached out and ordered more books, but he felt little hope of having his desires answered. Slowly the fires of his obsession waned and grew quieter. The summer progressed and in his idle moments, Harry return to his books and read them again, hoping for answers in the next turn of the page.

When Dumbledore arrived at his family's home, he was happy to leave. When he arrived at the disguised Slughorn's muggle abode, he wasn't completely thrillled, but it was certainly better then continuing with that uncomfortable apparition. Still, after finally convincing the rotund Slughorn to join the faculty, there was another trip made with apparition.

Being back among his friends felt good to Harry. Having their comforting presence there was a great boost to his spirits. After a while, Harry's obsession for answers in Runology darkened, and he had nearly discarded them untill his encounter with Draco Malfoy at Madam Malkin's.

He knew Draco had become a Death Eater- there was no other answer. He and his dubious friends followed the blonde head of hair directly down Knockturn Alley to just outside Borgin and Burkes. While listening to Draco threaten Borgin, thinking that would be proof to both Ron and Hermione that his suspicion that Draco was a Death Eater, a small sliver of Harry's obsession resurfaced. He couldn't help but wonder, what kind of books could Borgin have in his shop?

After Hermione's failed attempt to get information from Borgin, Harry knew he would return to the small store and get what she couldn't. Deep down he knew that he would be coming back for much different reasons.

In the small hours of the morning, Harry returned to Knockturn Alley with its darkened windows, and entered the small store.

* * *

On first entering there was a small chime of a bell just above the door, and immediately came the oily haired form of Borgin- a rotten toothed smile plastered on his face for his potential first custumer of the day. The rotten smile died a quick death as he saw the bespectacled face of Harry Potter.

Harry could still remember the look on Borgin's face as he obviously began to sweat; rubbing at his hands and obviously becoming nervous at the sight of the rumored champion of the light. Harry still hated that people would think of him in those terms, but at this moment, those rumors had their uses.

"Why, Mr. Potter... what do I owe for this morning visit?" said Borgin in his most oily voice as he gave a minor bow. Harry felt a near over powering need to bathe as the man spoke.

Always start a new paragraph when the speakers switch.

"Do you carry books Mr. Borgin?" Harry cut through any possible wordy banter or waste of time the man might have started.

Bending back up with his eyes narrowed in suspicion Borgin hissed,

"What's it to you Potter?" As calmly as Harry could manage he responded as politely as possible,

"I'm looking for a book. Does it matter why?" Harry could see the greedy glint that had grown in the mans eyes. Borgins greed easily out-weighed his suspicion of the boy, and if the-boy-who-lived bought any thing from Borgin there was good blackmail material to be had.

"Well boy, if it's gonna be like that; then follow me." Swiftly with a flutter of his robes, Borgin turned around and disappeared behind a curtain that had seen much better days.

Immediately, Harry dug his hand into his robe pocket and gripped his wand tightly, on the watch for treachery. He quickly followed oily-haired man behind the curtain, and found himself in front of an enormous shelf of books. The book shelf seemed to stretch far into the distance- more than should have been possible given the size of the shop. In front of that seemingly endless shelf stood Borgin, another rotten toothed smiled plastered across his face.

"What book were you looking for Mr. Potter?"

Dragging his eyes away from the massive shelf of books Harry spoke up quickly. "Do you have anything on Runology?" At the very utterance of Harry's question the very shelf seemed to move of it own accord. The entire bookshelf slid directly to the right of Harry and more books on more shelves appeared. Those too disappeared as more appeared, until the entire shelf was moving so fast it was a mere blur to Harry's eyes. Suddenly it stopped and directly behind a still smiling Borgin, a nearly empty bookshelf stood.

Only five books were visible at the very bottom of the shelf- the rest was empty space. "Is that all you have?" asked a now impressed and yet disappointed Harry Potter.

"Is that all I have?" echoed Borgin, "Boy, those are some of the most useful books you'll find on the damn subject anywhere!" Harry couldn't help but lift an eyebrow at that statement. That was an older than dirt sales tactic that no one would fall for.

"How much for all of them then?"

I'm going to bold my corrections for the next few paragraphs so you can see the sort of changes I'm making...

At the pointed question Borgin bellowed a laugh that seemed to shake his entire body. The laugh continued for so long- only stopping so Borgin could breathe- that Harry felt himself growing heated with anger. "I'm serious," said Harry, using his most serious tone of voice possible.

Borgin used a grimy hand to wipe away tears of laughter as he straightened up. "Boy those books would cost you more than you entire Hogwarts tuition three times over!" Again Borgin began to laugh.

Harry could feel his face redden at the man's attitude, and promptly strolled over to look at the books to see what made them so expensive. As soon as he got close, Borgin stopped laughing and looked at Harry with a suspicious eye, his hand nearing his tattered pocket. When he was no more than an arms reach away from the books, Harry lost any sense of respect for the man. The books could not be worth anywhere near what the man claimed. All the books except one were missing their titles, and one appeared to be held together by nothing more than a single piece of string and a prayer. Every last one of those books looked tattered and ill-cared for.

Snorting, Harry turned around and began to head towards the exit, angry at himself for wasting the time.

"Where are you going boy," called Borgin.

"I wouldn't pay a single Galleon for those books, the way they look," Harry responded hotly.

Immediately, Borgin stopped laughing and watched one of his more golden opportunities begin to leave the store. Borgin didn't have a clue how much those books were worth. All he knew was they had come to him for free when one of his former clients sold Borgin what he thought was a desk cursed with disintegration . It turned out the desk had an infestation of termites that was simple to clear up. What was not simple was the small drawer that defied all magical and mundane attempts to unlock it, until Borgin had just sat on it, and the damn thing had popped open. The books inside talked at length about some obscure application of Runes, and he had just filed them away.

"Wait," cried the oily voice of Borgin. Swiftly, Harry turned around and looked at the man. "How about twenty thousand?" Harry let out a hiss of breath and made to turn back around. "Ten thousand!"

"Make it two thousand Borgin and you have a deal." Harry turned around and looked the man in eye, hoping it would work, and that he had enough to pay it. "We have a deal, Mr. Potter."

* * *

Looking at the circle of fine lines and acute angles that Harry and drawn on the floor of a unused classroom, he smiled confidently as he neared completion. He well remembered the days of frantic study- after getting the gold to pay the slimy man. When he had opened that first book he knew he had found what he had been looking for in the form of two words, Human transmutation.

In that book and the other four books combined, they described in detail the theory of creating a human from it most basic elements. At length the books talked about the risks and dangers of trying to bring back the dead and retrieving the soul, but Harry ignored them. He consumed their information like a thirsty man would water. Whenever he came across an idea or concept he didn't understand, he went back to some of the other books he had ordered and solidified his knowledge there. Often times those five books disagreed with Harrys previous books. The author, a man of the name Van Hohenheim, seemed to think differently about the limits that Runology had.

As Harry's summer wore on while he stayed at the Burrow, many of the Weasley clan were growing concerned with Harrys continued absence from the general family. It became clear to Harry that Ron had convinced most of the family that he just needed time to get over Sirius. What they didn't understand, Harry knew, was that they would all get to see Sirius again very soon. Soon Harry felt confident in his abilities to do as the books and his own knowledge directed. Getting the materials he needed proved so easily it was nearly laughable.

With the past still at the very forefront of his mind, Harry took a small knife and slid it across his index finger, causing a red upwelling of blood to spring forth and drop slowly onto the pile of his assembled material. It had been simple gathering the necessary reagents for Sirius's rebirth. Harry could feel himself becoming feverish at thought of finally being able to see Sirius again. Finally being able to hear his bark of laugher that sounded so much like a dog's. To finally see his godfather once again, with his shaggy head of hair, and finally to hug him and tell him how sorry he was that he hadn't done better. Harry hoped his godfather would forgive him.

The last bit of ingredients had finally been added to the mixture. The blood represented the soul. That was the only thing Harry could dream of that would be a metaphor for the soul of a human being. Without blood a person was nothing.

After his final labor was complete Harry rested for a short time, with thoughts of his eventual reunion with Sirius dancing in his head. There was so much he still needed to talk about and Harry honestly couldn't wait to begin.

Feeling fully rested, Harry got up from where he had been sitting and walked towards his chalked out circle. Dropping to his knees just outside of the chalked outlines, he clapped his hands together, closed his eyes and imagined the full form of Sirius. He remembered the man's wild hair and lined face from his long years in Azkaban. Harry pictured Sirius as clearly as his memories allowed him to. Leaning forward, Harry dropped down both hands, touching the circle with his eyes fully open to watch the miracle that was about to happen before him.

Nothing.

Nothing happened for one second, two second, three seconds, and on. Growing confused, Harry didn't know what he had done wrong. Maybe he mistranscribed a symbol? But then he felt cold.

The very air became as cold, as it would be during the height of winter. Then the very light darkened in the room. The many candles Harry had placed around the room so he could work went out with a puff of smoke.

Clear blue light suddenly began to glow from every last line and symbol Harry had painstakingly drawn on the floor. Around the pile of ingredients Harry had made, small sparks of electricity began jump across. Success! Harry knew he had succeeded; he was finally going to see Sirius again.

The light from the circle began to darken to an evil purple color, and slowly, dark and formless shapes began to rise from the very outside of the circle. Suddenly a great line appeared in front of Harry. It opened up to form what could only be an eye. It was not an eye Harry had ever seen. The iris was surrounded by the most clear white Harry had ever seen, even snow could not compare to such bright white. The iris itself looked like gray circles around gray circles that surrounded a black void that Harry could fee

* * *

l himself growing afraid of.

This was not what was suppose to happen!

Frantically, with fear crawling within, Harry he tried to get up and run; to get away from that pitiless eye. But he found his hands wouldn't move from where they were. Small black hands began to snake their way from the line of the circle. Each black tentacle seemed to undulate in multiple directions. They terrified Harry in the way a Dementor could never hope to. Those black handed tentacles were of a black that seemed to eat the very light around them.

Without a hint of warning, each and every last one of those black nothings dove at Harry, and white brightness surrounded him.

* * *

Harry found himself in a very strange place. Stranger by far than any other place he had ever seen. Around him was nothing but blank whiteness.

"Where am I," he muttered.

"Oi!"

Harry's attention was drawn toward... something. He didn't know what to really make of it in all honesty. There was only an outline to make out what the thing was. This thing, whatever it was, seemed to be sitting down. From the looks of it, Harry could have almost sworn it had the body of a human.

"Oi, human! It's rather rude not to introduce yourself." Harry nearly jumped out of his shoes and socks altogether once he realized where that voice had come from. The voice that spoke and the mouth that moved didn't seem to even be in sync, the more detached part of Harry realized.

Hesitantly Harry spoke, "I'm Harry Potter. Who are you?" He hoped this thing, or person, or whatever it was, would at least be able to help figure out where he was.

"Well," came the mellow almost-male voice, "we come to the heart of the matter. What. Am. I. That's a good good question. I am an existence that your kind might call the world. Some might call the universe and others god. To the few I am truth. To the many I am one, but for now I am you."

With a ghostly, near-invisible arm, this thing, Truth, pointed directly at Harry. Fear tightened in Harry's guts and the slow creaking of a door, long unused, echoed behind Harry Potters back. Twisting swiftly in alarm, he could feel a sense of dread claw up his spine as he beheld that pitiless eye again- this time framed by a black void beyond word or scream.

Arms of darkness stretched out to greet him, and Harry turned to run as blind animal panic coursed throughout his body. The black arms grabbed his body with ease, and Harry could only scream.

"So noisy. Isn't this what you wanted?"

Harry continued to scream and fight as those arms of darkness dragged him into a door way that would shut him out from the light. Before all light was lost forever to Harry, he could hear one last parting remark from this thing that somehow claimed to be him.

"Welcome to the truth, Harry Potter."

* * *

**Please leave a review about what you thought could have been done better and I'll look toward implementing it.**

**I want to thank my new beta reader CyrusLestrange for going through this giant mess and finding it within him/her self to fix it.  
**

**Updated 1/31/2014**


	2. Discovery

**Please understand what I do here is play around with some of the established cannon. I will do my damnedest to make sure I write each character as they are in the source material with the correct amount of character development to explain certain...differences.**

**On a side note it is very interesting how many people seem to forget about Firenze.**

* * *

Deep within the ground, beneath the thousands of scurrying feet of busy, clueless Muggles, alarms were screeching in the Department of Mysteries. Everywhere throughout the department, men and women uniformed in blue rushed about in a panic, trying to pinpoint the source of the alarm. Meanwhile, a man dressed in a navy-blue uniform adorned in gold calmly walked down a hallway to reach the department's center; a place of spinning doorways. The man was tall, broad-shouldered and pale, with unkempt black hair. His intense dark eyes told anyone who crossed his path that he meant business.

The man walked with an air of assurance that only came after facing crises more times than a person could count on their fingers. He strolled down the hallway, his eyes focused on the thick oak door at the very end. A hulking giant of a man - fiendishly tall, bald as a chicken's egg with a thin, blond mustache - hurried to step alongside the man in navy-blue.

"Mustang, do you think it's another false alarm?"

Reaching out with a white gloved hand, man named Mustang turned toward the blond, mustachioed giant.

"Alex, haven't I told you enough times to call me Roy? We're not Aurors anymore."

Alex's face broke out into a mildly embarrassed smile as he looked down at his one-time superior. "I know Mus...Roy. It just doesn't feel right. I still can't believe they took away both our ranks."

Roy Mustang smiled sardonically at his good friend Alex Louis Armstrong. After the first war with Lord Voldemort, both of them had been placed in this dead-end career path. Apparently the new peace-time Minister, Cornelius Fudge, had thought (rightly so) that Roy and his compatriots were political rivals.

Deep down, Roy Mustang knew that if he had just a little more time to reorganize the battered Auror forces under his command and convince Alex's dear, sweet elder sister Olivier Mira Armstrong to send him at least a few platoons of her battle-harden Night Legion, he could have overthrown this despicable government. Alas per usual, Olivier - the well-nicknamed Black Queen - had point-blank told Mustang to go fornicate with himself. She had even offered the use of her unsheathed sword to do so. Needless to say, Roy had not taken up on her offer and had resigned himself to attempt to draw other like-minded individuals to his cause.

Mustang remembered at one point, finding a dozen individuals who proved to agree with him. However, that had been the day when he found he had been transferred. That bastard Fudge had seen exactly what kind of man Roy Mustang was and had seen fit to scuttle Mustang's career, along with his entire senior and junior staff's as well. Each and every last one of them had been transferred to the most dead-end jobs that were possible. Most of his female staff had been relegated to nothing more than secretaries. It still burned Roy to bright-red flames that some of his most capable staff had been treated in such a demeaning and sexist way.

When Roy had learned of his new position as an Unspeakable, he also learned of one of the unspoken rules of the job. Once you were an Unspeakable, you could never be anything else. No Unspeakable, past or present, was allowed to change their career choice once they were placed in that department. Apparently the "official" explanation was to prevent anyone from passing on the secrets of magical Britain.

Roy had done his best to keep in contact with his staff. Unfortunately for him, most sensed where things were headed and simply left their monotonous jobs at the Ministry. With the skill-set a majority of them possessed, many found new, very lucrative careers. Roy had received several letters from all over the world - Africa, the Middle East, and even some isolated parts of Asia - written by former members of his staff who had hired themselves out as mercenaries. Admittedly, Mustang had been very tempted to do the same but he couldn't, in good conscious, leave this government, this nation as it was.

At every occasion that presented itself, Roy Mustang had done his best to ensure that a certain measure of fairness and caring remained in the world. So far his efforts had gone very well within his department. In fact, he was nearly the de-facto head of the department. The only time so far in which he had been overruled in his "suggestions" was when their own ineffectual, official department head, by the name of Raven, had told them to clear out the entire department for the night.

The anger Roy mustang felt over that pure-blood, inbred, bigoted, son of a gutter-whore was still raw; as evident by the smoldering that was becoming evident around the door knob Roy still held. Once he began to feel that his hand had become a little hot, Roy looked down pausing in puzzlement and jumped back, screaming in obvious pain.

"You really shouldn't space out like that, Roy," came the deep voice of Alex. "You've already melted three handles this month." The enormous man had the decency to look abashed at the look Roy shot him.

"I know, Alex, I know. I just cannot believe Raven is going to get away _again_." Roy's reply came in a huff as he blew small cooling breaths on his hand. Raven had easily come up with a plausible excuse to all the Ministry inquires. He had said he had been fumigating the department because some rather destructive pests had made themselves at home. This was perfectly true. The Department of Mysteries did have a minor pest problem, but nothing to warrant a full-blown fumigation. Obviously somebody must have greased that bastard's palms heavily. Instantly, that blond-haired bigot Malfoy came to mind but thankfully that fool was now where he rightly belonged.

Roy Mustang stood up straight, looking his tall friend in the eye.

"Well," said Roy, "Shall we go see if the alarm is for real this time around?"

Nodding their heads together, Roy reached out and opened the door into pure pandemonium. Everywhere. people in matching blue uniforms were running back and forth, checking and rechecking and crossing off locations from long lists they carried in hand. At the center of it all was a perfectly detailed model of the entire Isle of the United Kingdom of Great Britain.

As he drew near to the center of this storm of activity, he could see the map was lit up with a multitude of red dots indicating locations where magic was being performed. The Department of Mysteries worked hand in hand with several departments that were in charge of monitoring magic across the nation and this was the source of it all. No one was still sure how the object worked or even how it was made, but all that mattered on the majority of days was that it did.

Right at this moment, the constant flurry of red dots wasn't what drew Mustang's attention. It was the pulsating purple dot that occupied itself inside Scotland. Roy Mustang let out a huff of breath as he knew exactly where that dot had to be - Hogwarts. One of the drawbacks of the map was its tendency to misread what magic was being performed. The more magic that was concentrated in the area, the more likely a false reading happened. Unsurprisingly, Hogwarts was that perfect place and a constant source of irritation.

One of the main duties Roy found when he had first entered the department was to monitor the nation for instances of truly forbidden magics. Using the Unforgivables wasn't however, being monitored. Instead his department looked for the truly forbidden pieces of magic such as necromancy or actual voodoo rituals. Those could not be allowed to continue because those practices threatened the very fabric of magic itself. Mustang did not fully understand how those types of magic were a threat but he had read enough on the theories and observations to be convinced. This purple dot however was a total unknown. Since it was happening around Hogwarts, it could only be another glitch amongst the thousands of other such similar cases.

Looking around at the scene surrounding him and the continued panic in the eyes of every last one of his fellows. Roy wasn't so sure. Did they know something he didn't? Before he could truly take charge of the situation, the pulsating purple dot vanished.

Immediately he shouted the room for quiet. With a calmer face he asked, "Can anyone confirm that this is a real case?"

One of his junior monitoring-analysts, a mousy-haired, bespectacled woman by the name of Sheska, was practically jumping up and down on one foot to answer. "Oh Mr. Mustang, uh Roy...Um I mean, sir. We have confirmed that there was a source of forbidden magic at Hogwarts. We're just not really sure exactly what it is." Sheska trailed off toward the end squeaking like a mouse. Inwardly, Roy sighed. He knew she was a brilliant woman and wished she was just a little more confident.

Nodding politely in her direction, he said, "Thank you Sheska. Good work." Roy honestly hoped the woman wouldn't melt this time at his praise. "Do we have some kind of idea what kind of magic we are dealing with at least?"

Roy looked around the room. Not a single pair of eyes met his. All of the workers appeared to feel a tad ashamed at their apparent failure.

Suddenly Sheska spoke up again but with a little bit of the mousy squeak gone from her voice. "Um, Mr. Roy, sir, we think it might be Alchemy. But that shouldn't even be possible..." Again the woman had trailed off to little more than a whisper but this time it was because this had peaked her curiosity.

Roy Mustang couldn't help but agree with her. Alchemy was a newly burgeoning area of Magic when their map of Britain had been first created. Nobody had found a way to really modify it nor monitor that type of magic.

Nodding at the woman's input, Roy Mustang clapped his hands together. "Alright people, this is what is going to happen. I and Mr. Armstrong are going to investigate. I want the rest of you to research and double-check your findings. Relay to me anything you might find."

Turning and nodding to Alex Armstrong, Roy proceeded out a nearby doorway.

"So Roy," came the grumble of Alex. "Are you sure you really want to go there again? Roy Mustang chose not to respond to the question. But the man did have a very good question. Why would anyone return to a school they had been expelled from and humiliated by?

* * *

Harry Potter screamed. In the darkness, all Harry could do was scream, on and on. There was nothing in this dark void - no light, sound or matter. Matter? That was a strange word. Even as he screamed, Harry couldn't help but wonder if the word carried new meanings it had not before. Now the word meant the physical world he had been a part of not so long ago.

More words began to stream into Harry's mind. All of them new and frightening. Words he couldn't hope to ever recognize came from languages long since dead or still very much alive. Even as the relentless tide of words in Harry's mind sped up without stopping, concepts Harry had never heard of began to enter into his mind. Light, gravity, biology, physiology, psychology and more never halting, left Harry's head feeling like it was going to explode at the sudden inrush of new ideas.

It wasn't just the awareness of the existence of these new ideas of science that amazed Harry. It was also the fact that he realized exactly what they all were. There was also formulas and concepts of Magic he had never even dreamt of. Suddenly a new idea attached itself to an old word Harry had heard a long time ago when he was so much younger, Alchemy. The power to change existing physical matter into your desire with the use of specialized inscriptions.

Harry had finally given up screaming as the knowledge pored into his skull when he came to the understanding that what he had done was not Runology but Alchemy. What he had done was attempt to use Alchemy to bring back his dead godfather. The concept of Human transmutation was already there in Harry's mind but he found new ideas being attached to his knowledge. Ideas he could not stomach.

Soon everything rushing into Harry's mind began to blur and make his entire body burn. He began to scream again, this time with a mindless howl of agony to make it stop.

"It's too much," he cried. Everything was entering Harry's mind; every possible outcome to every single event in history past, present or future. Still it came, never stopping and never slowing down.

Suddenly in that black void, light appeared to Harry's eyes. In front of him, a shadow of a human being was silhouetted against a background of pure light. Harry knew it had to be Sirius. There was no other answer that it could be. Harry struggled against the binding of the tendrils of darkness. He reached forward, trying his hardest to reach out and grasp Sirius.

Suddenly he was in front of that thing again and no longer surrounded by the void.

"_Sirius!_" yelled Harry Potter. Turning around on his heels, Harry spun around searching everywhere in that great white expanse for the shaggy form of his godfather. Rounding on that outlined thing that called itself Truth, Harry tried to grab it by its almost nonexistent shoulders.

His hands passed through it and the thing seemed to smile, as if in mockery to Harry's attempt to lay his hands on it. That mocking smile only inflamed Harry's anger and he screamed at Truth. It was a wordless howl of rage and denial. Harry denied what the thing showed him. He denied it but a part of him knew what he had seen was THE truth.

The only truth that possibly mattered. To obtain anything of value, something of equal value must be exchanged in return. That was a rule Harry Potter knew but, in all his arrogance, had ignored.

A crushing weight of inevitability seemed to sink into Harry Potter's very bones. Slowly, he dropped down to his knees with his head hanging in defeat.

"I just want him back," said Harry as he tried to choke back tears.

"What is the price of a single human soul?" The question came in a low growl. Harry looked up, his cheeks still wet with tears, and saw the outlined face of Truth. At first, Harry would have thought he saw anger in that thing's face but, since it technically did not have a face. he really couldn't say.

"I don't know," whispered Harry.

Truth grinned at Harry's answer, revealing rows of giant teeth. "For the insignificant price you paid, human, I cannot tell you."

Before Harry could even ask what price, he felt his arms beginning to burn.

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Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was tired. During his first conflict with Tom Riddle, he would have felt his age every other week, maybe even every three weeks. Now with his hand withered beyond all hope of recovery and his life having a set date to that final journey, he was beat.

As Dumbledore sat in his high-backed chair in the ancestral office of the Hogwarts Headmasters, his joints ached relentlessly. There was a horrendous pounding behind his skull and he very much could use a nice cup of tea. Unfortunately he was truly too weary to even wave his wand and conjure a nice cup of his favorite lemon tea from the kitchens. He couldn't even muster the energy to call for one of the Hogwarts house elves to come bring him one.

The Headmaster could already feel his eyes beginning to turn to lead as they begged to be allowed rest. He was almost ready to bow to their incessant demands when he heard a slight ringing in his ears. It was a lovely ringing, his foggy mind remarked. Then with the ringing came the powerful note of a gong and Dumbledore was completely startled into wakefulness.

Everywhere across the wards placed throughout the castle's ramparts and grand halls, there were great fits of alarm. Instantly, the man who had faced Gellert Grindelwald on the flaming streets of Berlin as the Russians shot and burned civilian and soldier alike, stood tall in office of the headmasters. With a single flick of the well-won Elder Wand, Dumbledore's voice magnified one-thousand-fold, echoing throughout the halls of his precious school.

"All students are to return to their dormitories and all heads of houses and prefects are to remain there. The rest of the faculty are to convene in the Grand Hall." Another flick of his wand and Albus's voice returned to its normal grandfatherly quality. With a single motion of his hand, his ever faithful companion Fawkes perched himself on Albus's shoulder. In a flash of flames, Albus found himself at the very doors of the school.

Briefly, Dumbledore glanced across the vast swath of land before the front gates of Hogwarts and he saw no invading force threatening the schools safety. After a savage flick of his wand and the thousands upon tens of thousands of wards, glyphs, and outright spell land mines activated. Spinning about on his heels, Dumbledore eyed his school and waving his wand, every wind shutter across the school shut themselves with an audible _SNAP_. One-by-one they closed and solidified themselves to stone, each as powerful and hard to penetrate as the very walls of this place of learning.

Again Dumbledore disappeared in a flash of crimson flame and found himself at the entrance to the great feast hall. Briefly, he waved his wand above his head, disillusioning himself beyond all eyes alive or dead. There he sat, crouching, waiting for his faculty and those who must have penetrated his school's defenses to come rushing his way.

If the goal of whoever had set off the schools alarms had been to eliminate either himself or the faculty members, they would not be able to help themselves. First in singles and then by pairs, the esteemed members of the school's faculty came running into the Great Hall. Each person Dumbledore scanned with passive Legilimency to see if any may have been placed under the Imperius curse. None showed any of the signs of being lulled into doing as they were told.

Only after the galumphing hooves of Firenze finally entered in the confines of the Hogwarts dining room with no sign of mental tampering did Dumbledore finally undue his disillusionment and entered the Hall.

"Dumbledore," wheezed the heavily sweating form of Slughorn, "What in the blazes is the problem?" It appeared the rotund professor had come running all the way from the very bowels of the schools dungeons.

Electing to ignore the balding man's questions, Dumbledore turned his half-moon bespectacled gaze on the rest of his faculty. "The rest of you can feel it too, can't you?"

Minus the recent addition of Slughorn- the faculty nodded as one. Every single professor of Hogwarts was expected upon taking their position to defend their school and the children with their very lives. That entailed being tied into nearly every ward and alarm that the headmaster himself was bound too.

"Good. I want each of you to pair up and sweep the school and then sweep the houses for anything out of the ordinary. The Ministry Aurors are no doubt already combing the outer boundaries." At his word, each teacher paired up together and left the Great Hall, their wands at the ready.

"What about you Professor?" came the heavily accented words of Hagrid. Looking up into the giant mans' bushy black beard, Dumbledore could only smile.

"Me, my good friend? I shall be in the Shadows." Without a single flick of his wand, Dumbledore disappeared in a flash of bright flame.

Already Dumbledore was tracing along the wards, looking for the source of the continuous alarms. So far, the entire disturbance seemed to be localized in the left wing of the castle. The only thing there were plenty of classrooms that hadn't seen a student since Albus became Headmaster.

Beyond that, Dumbledore could not localize the disturbance any further. There was simply too much interference from other magical sources, not to mention the wards he was using were just never meant for what he was doing. They were never meant to help locate intruders, only to inform of them. That was a serious flaw in the design Dumbledore couldn't correct with only the resources he had at hand.

Instantly, with Fawkes's crimson flames surrounding him, Dumbledore appeared in the left wing of Hogwarts. Quickly ,with his wand drawn and his eyes on the lookout for any hostility, Dumbledore began his own sweep of the school. Without stopping, Dumbledore checked a dozen different rooms. From cleaning storage to drafty classrooms, he found nothing. Then the smell hit him.

It was the smell of blood - the scarlet stench of copper. It lacked the overtone of burning human flesh that Dumbledore associated it with since the last days of Grindelwald's war. With a greater sense of caution, Dumbledore continued forward, more weary than he ever been since Tom Riddles return.

Slowly, he passed by three open doors, checking each of their rooms for the tell-tale glow of crimson. Then he passed by a closed door. Dumbledore could feel his heartbeat picking up before settling to a natural rhythm. Taking a deep breath, he slowly pushed open the door. Suddenly, the smell of blood washed over him.

Accompanying the smell of blood, Dumbledore heard the light sound of laughter and a dark, evil gurgling as if it was blood bubbling in the throat of the dying. Dumbledore warily entered the room and he noticed a curled-up form dressed clearly in disheveled Hogwarts robes. Instantly he recognized that pained laughter for who it was.

"Harry," came the shocked whisper of Dumbledore.

While in fetal position, Harry slightly rocked back and forth. "I did it. I brought him back. I did it. I brought him back. I did it. I brought him back. I did it. I brought him back. I did it. I brought him back. I did it. I brought him back." Over and over again Harry kept repeating himself.

Running forward, Dumbledore nearly reached the curled-up form of Harry Potter until the sick, liquid, gurgling sound intensified.

Dumbledore couldn't help himself as he looked up. He wished he hadn't. Before him, as traces of smoke cleared, two piercing crimson eyes stared back at him. They came from a face that was beyond human.

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**Updated 2/24/2014.**

**Beta by a wonderful person of the name spectaculaire**


	3. Running in the Hallway

**If nobody knows this just yet, understand I have no ownership to the properties of Harry Potter.**

**According to almighty and all knowing Wikipedia the professor of Ancient Runes is Bathsheba Babbling. For the sake of this particular moment let us pretend none of that is true and that the real professor is a man.**

**Forgive me for posting this without my Beta giving it his/her approval. I've had it done for a while and felt the need to post it. There is the possibility of rewrites so if you reread this some time later know it could be completely different.**

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Hermione Granger dreaded ever being forced to abandon her Ancient Runes course. At that moment Hermione found herself walking down a deserted corridor. The only noise that echoed throughout the area was the click clack of Hermiones own shoes. She found herself gripping her wand extremely hard as she continued her sojourn to the Gryffindor common room.

The entirety of Hermiones Ancient Runes class was composed of a mixture of Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws and a single Slytherin. Every last one of them was a boy. Hermione was the only girl in that class and really the only girl that had elected to take that course in nearly a decade. That was the more pressing reason for why Hermione was so nervous.

Hermione hadn't known it at the time she had signed up for the class but Ancient Runes was an almost exclusively male profession. To make it all the worse the majority of the boys that were taking the class were all well bred "purebloods" that were offended by the mere presence of a muggleborn. To say she had been an unwelcome presence since day one would have been an understatement of monumental proportions.

With her wand firmly in hand Hermione continued to walk toward her bastion of safety. She was almost tempted to cast a disillusionment charm on herself however, that was a spell even she had been having difficultly with. Hermione couldn't help herself as she thought back to those early days of her taking Ancient Runes.

That class alone had contributed more to her near break down during her third year than any other class. Hermione knew down to her very toes that if she hadn't had Hagrid's gigantic shoulders to cry on she would probably have had a total nervous collapse. For her, being in Ancient Runes was a special kind of hellish torture specifically designed for her gender.

Those boys-no those animals- had been merciless toward what they had to have seen as some jumped up woman mudblood. Everyday they seemed to come up with a new insult. They varied from cursing her books to never open to making her very skirt see through so every boy in the class could get a look at her under garments.

The professor, Markis Mcduffle, himself had been little better as he described some of the earliest histories of his profession. According to him much of early runes practices had been consisted of incomprehensibly horrible rituals. Many involved the taking of a virgin woman-or any virgin for that matter-and the more uncooperative the better results those wizards would receive. When she had complained to professor Mcduffle about how his class had been treating her he had claimed there was no "proof" to her accusations of such nobly born purebloods.

Remembering what happened after that bastard of a teacher had refused to help her brought a smile to Hermione's face. After three trips to Dumbledore she had finally managed to corner the main instigator of most of her torment; a Ravenclaw by the name of Davis Goldmen. It had happened barely a day after she had punched out Malfoy and helped Harry rescue Sirius.

At that moment she was still in an emotional high and had been walking down a corridor after getting a clean bill of health from the nurse. Hermione had only just spotted that petty bully all by himself with the exception of a short blonde headed girl under one arm. She remembered the absolutely crazy idea that came to her as she made a mad dash for a deserted classroom. All she had to do was grab the little bugger and yank him into the room.

Everything had actually gone off without a hitch and she had easily disarmed Davis without much struggle. From there she had threatened Davis with the total loss of what made him a man. Hermione actually knew the spell to make such a loss permanent. She had even threaten to transfigure him into a woman and dose his fellows with enough lust potion to keep the entire group entertained for days.

After she had let Davis go with him promising to never torture her again during class the overall quality of Ancient Runes had taken a turn for the better. However, Davis hadn't been one to let such insults on his "honor" die down. Which explained why Hermione found herself constantly looking over her shoulder as she walked down a simple deserted corridor.

It had become nearly routine for Hermione to find a group of some of her classmates remaining outside in the hallways waiting for her. Owing to her always sitting at the very front of class they always got there before her. From there they would follow her for some distance waiting for her to be by herself.

Hermione could only surmise that being the nobly born gentlemen they were they had placed it upon themselves to show the mudblood the error of her ways. If that group of sick fucking bastards were able to get their way that would involve her on her knees or on her back or whatever position they found the most expedient.

She couldn't help herself as an unintentional shutter ran up Hermione's spin at the mere thought of what those boys would consider "expedient". Unable to help herself as she thought morosely about how this entire degree of caution she had to take had become almost blasé. How the hell did the constant threat of rape and humiliation become so everyday?

Before she could even begin to contemplate such ideas her worst fears came to fruition. In front of her stood a staggered line of black robed boys. At their center stood the raven haired head of Davis Goldmen,_ terrific_.

Sliding forward Davis plastered a cocky grin on his face, looking at Hermione with the worst kind of intent in his eyes. "So, Granger, are you ready for the joys of womanhood?" At that opening statement Hermione raised her wand and cried, "Solarium!" A bright flash of white light exploded from her wand tip directed straight at the group of boys. The entire group of disgusting animals found themselves completely blinded after being engulfed in the white light.

Immediately Hermione rushed forward and brutally knocked two of the boys out of her lane of swift departure. Screaming almost incoherently Davis cried, "Don't just stand there get that fucking cunt!" The race was on.

Of all the things Hermione had thought would happen today of them she would have concluded that being chased by an irate gang of would be rapists after having Ancient Runes cancelled was not at the top of the list. As it was, she had to keep running because she knew full well what would happen if she got caught. Unfortunately she wasn't as physically gifted as her best friends Ronald Weasely or the Adonis Harry Potter; she could already feel a stitch building in her side from the continuous running.

Taking a right down another vacant corridor and then looping around a bend Hermione could tell she was almost to the portrait of the Fat Lady. Inwardly cursing herself for not getting Harry to show her more of the castles hidden side passages and chambers Hermione ran full out forgoing saving any energy. She could hear the rapidly approaching cat calls of the boys behind her and what they kept screaming they would do, her entire system panicked.

Finally with a relieved out rush of breath Hermione finally spotted the unmistakable gilded frame of the Fat Lady. "Password," inquired the corpulent woman. Breathing in and out trying to catch some trace of air Hermione barely managed to grunt out, "Riptide". The heavy frame of the large woman opened up on well oiled hings ushering Hermione into a common room that was in a state of uproar.

Looking back to make sure none of her previous pursuer's had managed to worm themselves into the portrait hole she caught the briefest glimpse of Davis's steely eyes looking back at her. Before the gateway could close itself fully Hermione gave that smug ass the muggle bird with her middle finger and looked at the Gryffindor common room. Amongst the sea of worried and near panicked faces Hermione managed to spot the red topped heads of Ron and his sister Ginny and quickly made her way to them.

With a truly relieved sigh Hermione plopped herself down into the only other unoccupied armchair nearby. Already Ron and his little sister had rushed over too check up on her. "Hermione where yea been," said Ron gruffly. Hermione made sure to keep eye contact with Ginny. She darted her eyes side to side begging for the red haired girl to get the message.

An imperceptible nod came from Ginny. "Ron some of those firsties almost look like they're about to cry and wet themselves. Get over there and be a prefect!" Almost reminiscent of the Weasely matriarch, Molly Weasely, Ginny ordered Ron away. With a few low grumbles normally used in front of his own mother Ron walked away.

Elegantly Ginny sat herself right next to Hermione's occupied chair and leaned against the supports. As Ginny sat down Hermione couldn't help herself at the tiny stab of jealousy she felt. She really envied Ginny and all her feminine ability. Even her looks were much better than Hermiones with Ginny's bright red hair behaving itself perfectly into ringlet curls. Her own hair was as bushy and uncontrollable as ever. Honestly, why did she get all the bad attention?

"So they tried again," asked Ginny in a mellow voice. "Yes," came Hermione's still winded reply. "Have you been using the spells I showed you?" Yes," again responded Hermione. "Have you noticed any other losses of time?" With some amount of breath back to her Hermione found herself able to speak with a little more coherence. "Not since..." Stopping Hermione gulped for air. "Not since you showed me those spells second year."

With some amount of chagrin Hermione well remembered the very circumstance behind her needing to learn those spells. It was partly why she threw herself so fully into her research of what could be in the Chamber of Secrets. Tirelessly searching helped her not think about what happened and for Hermione Granger not thinking was extremely difficult.

Hermione couldn't help herself as she blurted out a question that had been nagging her. "Ginny, why are so many trying to get me?" From the look on Ginny's face it seemed like Hermione had asked why they needed to breath. "Do you really not know Hermione?" Ginny asked in a measured tone. It almost seemed like Ginny thought she might be the butt of a joke.

A heated blush was slowly crawling itself up Hermione's neck and cheeks. "Of course I don't get it. You told me that after you dealt with your," hesitantly Hermione considered the public place they were in, "...problems. That they went away within a month. Why the bloody hell are they still after me? I've had at least two sytherins seventh years try this week. Why will they not leave me alone?" After finally stopping Hermione could feel tears forming at the corner of her eyes.

Every time this happened Hermione knew she had a finite amount of time before the whole experience came crushing in on her. When that time came and passed she knew she had to be somewhere quiet so she could cry it all out. It was the only real way to deal with the situation.

In a poorly chosen move to get her to calm down and try to change the topic Ginny spoke, "At least it wasn't as bad as after the yule ball. That's something to be grateful for."

A darkening had come over Hermione's mood at the little red heads words. She still well remembered that incident and what a close call it had been. If it hadn't been for the timely rescue of Viktor Krum she would have surely been on her back courtesy of Krum's own fellow Durmstrang boys.

Shaking her head to dispel the forming memory Hermione fixed Ginny with a beady eye. "Don't try and change the subject Ginny. Of course it wasn't as bad as that. I was able to fight back. Just please Ginny why will this just not stop?" Again Hermione could feel her eyes beginning to tear up. She wiped them away with her sleeve before anyone could notice.

Ginny was taking deep breaths apparently trying to keep her own cool. "Okay, Hermoine," said Ginny with a nearly condescending look. "You have to understand most of those boys see you as just some mudblood woman. That fact you are a woman just makes things a bloody sight worse." Ginny quickly raised her hand stopping Hermione in her tracks from speaking. "Look you may have joined the wizarding world but there's just a lot you still don't understand. Hermione I know you've talked about how women in the muggle world have just as many rights as men and their opinions are fairly respected. Here it's just not the same."

Hermione could feel herself nearly falling at Ginny's droning voice. It just didn't make any logical sense. Why did the magical world have to be so backward? Ginny continued on; more than likely understanding Hermione's stunned face for what it was. "Hermione the majority of witches to an extent are expected to do three things in their lives. Cook, clean, and make many respectable magical babies. If some women manage to become successful and make a career during the process then all the better."

Immediately Hermione interrupted Ginny before she could continue. "What about Tonks, Professor McGonagall or Professor Sprout, or even Fluer?" Instead of Hermione seeing Ginny looking flummoxed she had a sad smile on her face. "Hermione, you've never been around Tonks when she has drank a bit have you?" Unsure how to respond Hermione just shook her head. When Tonks would come back from a night of drinking she was almost impossible to be around. She was a sad drunk.

"If you had Hermione," said Ginny her tone of voice deadly serious. "You would have known that Tonks has had to bugger at least three of her superiors so she could graduate Auror training." To say Hermione was shocked would have been putting it mildly. She couldn't even comprehend the fun loving always cheerful Metamorph being coerced into such a thing.

"Hermione," continued Ginny. "that's why she's so upset about Lupin. She's convinced he thinks she's used goods. Convinced herself that he doesn't want to touch her." Now, Hermione already knew that Tonks was stricken with Lupin and utterly devastated that he didn't return her feelings. She however didn't know why Lupin wouldn't want to return those feelings. "Do you think she's right?"

Both of Ginny's brilliant crimson eyebrows came together in confusion. "I don't really know. I don't think Lupin is that kind of man." Hermione was of the same mind. Even still a werewolf; Lupin wasn't the kind of man to think like that._ Did he even know?_

Visibly collecting herself Ginny got right back on topic. "Look Hermione, the point I'm trying to make is that I can nearly guarantee you that both professors have probably had to do much the same thing in order to get where they are. Fluer is possibly the only real exception."

Immediately Hermione could feel herself puff up at Fluer being an exception. Why did the part Veela get a, "get out of being a slut free" card? Almost as quickly as she thought it, Hermione felt herself become filled with guilt. She shouldn't have thought that. She had to be almost as bad as those Animals in the corridor to wish for Fluer to be treated like that.

"I don't know if she hasn't had to do something for a wizard, but because of Fluer working with the Goblins she doesn't have to worry about being made to. Goblins only want their own women. Even if she did have some superior who wanted a favor I'm willing to bet my entire set of chocolate frog cards that she could glamour them into impotence." At that last bit Ginny let out a snort of laughter. Hermione let out the barest giggle at the thought too. Casting an impotence curse was one of the first things a second year Hermione had begged the little first year Ginny to teach her.

Already there were about a dozen boys-mostly Syltherins-who walked around school mortally afraid of anyone finding out about their problem. So far not a single one, to Hermione's knowledge, had managed to lift her curse.

Thoughts about what could have happened in the corridor not so long ago swirled inside Hermione's head; she didn't want to go off and cry just yet. Immediately she did her best to strike up a conversation with Ginny. "Well Ginny I guess you've made your point. Still, tell me about you and Dean. I heard you've been snogging him all over the castle." Even to her own ears what she had said was weak. More than likely Ginny would make some kind of noncommittal comment and all trace of speech would die between them.

"It's all true," came Ginny's surprising reply. To Hermione she sounded almost bored or uninterested? "It's really always Dean just pulling us into some random hidden corridor or just as likely a classroom."

"Is he being too rough," whispered Hermione.

Ginny giggled at Hermione's suggestion. "Him? Too rough? Please, that guy is completely wrapped around my fingers. He would get on all fours and let me sit on him if I said I felt tired."

For all her liking the pretty red head Hermione couldn't help but find Ginny's attitude concerning the boys she "dated" as anything less than dismissive. It really irked her sense of fairness that the boys always seemed to go along with it. Another part of Hermione envied Ginny again at her shear ability to talk to boys. The only two boys Hermione was so comfortable around were Harry and Ron.

Smiling as if it were a big joke Hermione kept up the conversation. "You can't be serious. I bet if I followed you two around long enough I could write you both up for indecent exposure."

At Hermione's very kidding threat Ginny just let loose a laugh that had everyone in their immediate vicinity looking at them as if they had gone mad. "Good luck Granger. You wouldn't find us!"

Both girls found themselves in a fit of giggles as they talked. They chatted about some of the most inconsequential stuff Hermione could conceive of and after a while she found herself feeling much better than she had in a while. It was good just to speak with another girl. It really made Hermione feel almost girly.

Even as she kept up the idle chit chat with Ginny something felt off about the whole common room. She couldn't place her finger on it, but something felt like it was missing. "Ginny," asked Hermione, "where's Harry?" This entire week Hermione had rarely seen Harry. He had ditched almost all of his classes since the first day and he was completely illusive.

She had tried to talk to him about it but, she couldn't find him._ Damn him and that stupid map!_ Ginny had the same expression on her face that Hermione felt rolling around in her head, royally confused. "I don't know," said Ginny a look of worry crinkling her face. "You would think he would have been here before all of us?" Nodding Hermione could only agree with the little redheaded's summation.

"Let's see if we can find him then Ginny."

Quickly both of them got up off their now slightly numb backsides and began to search the common room. Hermione quickly scanned the crowd around her, looking amongst the sea of red and gold Gryffindors for the messy black haired head of Harry Potter. Black hair was a fairly common trait it seemed among the United Kingdom's Wizarding population however, black rimmed glasses wasn't. Forcing herself among chatting groups of overly excited younger years she couldn't find Harry anywhere.

Sighing to herself Hermione knew her only last course of action; she would have to see if he was hold up in the boys dormitories. Ever since walking in on Ron giving himself some personal attention beneath the sheets Hermione had grown rather skittish of venturing up the boys stairway. Even remembering the incident still brought a rosy blush of embarrassment.

Intellectually she knew very well that boys liked to do that-some of the girls were infamous for doing it themselves-but why the hell did she have to walk in on Ron? It ranked up there in traumatizing memories with making a surprise visit home to see her parents and finding them both very much still in love on the dinning room table. Hermione still shuddered at the image.

Understanding how babies were made had been a part of Hermiones pre-Hogwarts education, but she did NOT want to see a reenactment of the event of her own conception. Mustering her courage Hermione made a bee line straight for the boys stair way. Ascending up the flights of stairs gave her time to think as she passed by several empty boy dorms.

What had Harry been up to throughout the summer? She had been so happy when he had asked how to order books through the mail she had insisted Hedwig take an entire copy of a catalog Hermione had in her room. It seemed to her that after picking up and borrowing her book on Runology Harry had finally gotten a little studious. When he had arrived at the Burrow for the rest of the summer he had been as silent and unsociable as Hermione herself was during her first year.

Harry even seemed to keep his nose in one book or another whenever he was out of his and Ron's shared room. Being the natural bookworm she was Hermione had tried multiple times to get a hold of the books Harry was reading. He never seemed to once let them out his sight; much to Hermione's disappointment. When she asked if she could give them a look there was almost a wildness to Harry's eyes she couldn't place. He gave her such a curt decline that she had actually walked off a little hurt.

That look in Harry's eye had frightened her more than she really cared to believe possible. Harry had been her friend very near the beginning of her magical education. Minus that incident during third year and they had been friends since her rescue from the hands of a smelly troll.

When she had spoken to Ron about her concerns with how Harry had been acting Ron had totally brushed them off. That stubborn giant red head had thought him still mourning Sirius. She knew damn well what mourning could look like and that look in Harry's eye was near frenzied. What was wrong with Harry?

Finally Hermione reached the sixth year dormitories and found only Neville Longbottom there sitting by himself on a four poster bed. It had been a long summer for Hermione but if the way he looked was any indication then it had been even longer for Neville. He looked a tad thinner and his skin was pale to the point of near gray.

The rather klutzy boy was facing away from Hermione and she couldn't see much of his head except for some cleanly cut hair. "Neville," spoke Hermione. "Have you seen Harry by any chance?" Neville seemed to have been startled by Hermione's unannounced question. Quickly the boy had wiped something from his face with a sleeve of his robe and turned around to look at Hermione. She was afraid of this, Neville had obviously been crying if his red rimmed eyes were anything to go by.

"Neville, what's wrong?" Hermione asked, concern coating her voice.

"It's nothing Hermione. Just something in my eye." Inwardly Hermione sighed; whether it was a muggle or a wizard, boys simply refused to face their emotions. Obviously in a hurry to see her gone and save himself from some awkward questions Neville quickly spoke up. "But yeah, I've not seen Harry for most of the week. Hope he's alright."

"I do too Neville, but what's really wrong? Has something happened to your grandmother?"

Neville looked slightly confused before he seemed to understand her concern. "No Hermione nothing like that. Just," Neville paused wetting his lips all his insecurities clearly visible. "I miss the DA. Do you think Harry is going to start it up again?"

There it was, thought Hermione. Of all the people who had joined the DA in defiance of the school tyrant Umbridge, Neville had gotten the most out of it. She still remembered how he began to really show some confidence. His spellwork had still needed help but, he was no longer the hopeless Gyffindor.

Softly Hermione spoke to Neville. "I don't know Neville. When I find him I can try and see if he's interested. I mean with Snape teaching defense I bet it wouldn't be too hard to convince Harry." She smiled trying to get Neville to feel better. It seemed to work as the pale boy let out a snort. "Thanks Neville. I'll let you know when I've broached it with Harry." Turning around Hermione proceeded to walk back to the common room and see if Ginny had any luck.

As Hermione reached the doorway and was about to take that first flight of stairs Neville spoke up in a rapid voice. "Hermionedoyouhavenightmares?" She barely understood the question and it gave her pause. _What did he mean by it?_ "I do," she replied her interest peaked.

"I have them too," whispered Neville. Hermione could barely hear him as he talked. "I still have nightmares from last year. When we went to the ministry to rescue Sirius Black. I still have nightmares about it. Do you?"

Hermione had been dead wrong about why Neville had been crying. She had those kind of Nightmares often enough. When she had returned home finally she had woken up screaming some days and her parents had tried to take her to therapy. She already knew that wasn't an option; for therapy to work you had to be honest and she couldn't. They would lock her away if she told exactly why she woke up screaming and sweating some nights.

"Yeah me too Neville." There wasn't anything Hermione really could say to that. It was the truth and all she wanted to do was put that entire incident of fighting screaming and nearly dying behind her. She didn't want to think about Dolohov casting that curse at her. She didn't want to remember all the vile evil things those men had shouted at her. What they would do to the mudblood whore and the two whore blood traitors.

Looking at the floorboards beneath her feet Hermione walked away and down the stairs not even looking back at Neville. She struggled hard to put those memories back where they belonged; deep in the recesses of her mind never to see the light of day. It was hard. She could feel her body wanting to curl up into a ball and weep. After the incident in that corridor it was harder then ever to resist the temptation for a good cry. She needed to find Harry first and make sure he was well.

Swiftly Hermione descended the stairway doing her damnedest to get the water works at bay. It wouldn't really do the rumor mill much good if she were seen, going down the boy's staircase, crying her eyes out. Everyone would think she had just had her cherry popped.

She stopped part way down the stairs and smoothed her skirt and wiped her eyes. At a distance maybe she wouldn't seem like she had nearly started crying. Close up the redness of her eyes would give it away. When she felt herself collected enough Hermione continued down the stairs to a common room utterly silent.

Every head and neck combo was turned to look at a rapidly whispering Professors McGonagall and Snape. They were talking in hushed whispers that could clearly be heard throughout the silent common room. "Are you sure," asked a clearly worried McGonagall.

"Yes McGonagall the headmaster is certain it's him. We need you there to see if you can be of any help to the...boy." Snape had a clear look of distaste on his face, but it was overlaid over something else. Concern? Worry? Hermione honestly didn't think man capable of those emotions.

Professor McGonagall's lips pinched together in worry, forming her infamous line across her face. "Very well Severus let me get everything straight." Quickly McGonagall turned to face her still silent house. "All students are to return and remain in their dormitories. All prefects come to me."

With numerous grumbles of complaints most of the students did as they were told and walked toward their rooms. All of the students did so except the six Gryffindor prefects whom all came at the call of their head of house. Hermione saw Ron not to far away doing as he was told and coming to McGonagall's call. The two fifth years Hermione had not spoken too much less learned their names. The two seventh year prefects apparently wanted nothing to do with the younger years and they had barely spoken with Hermione and Ron.

As they all reached Professor McGonagall the woman fixed them all with her patented penetrating gaze. "I want all of you to make sure everyone remains in their dorms. None are to leave until I have returned and given the all clear. Am I understood?"

As one each of the Gryffindors surrounding Hermione nodded their heads. Looking satisfied Professor McGonagall made to turn around and leave the common room for destinations unknown. Before the opportunity could pass her by Hermione hesitantly spoke up to the Professor's retreating backs. "Excuse me, Professor McGonagall. I can't find Harry. Have you seen him?"

The grey haired head of the Deputy Headmistress came to a full stop and whipped back around to look at Hermione with eyes that betrayed exactly where she must be going. Hermione knew now that something was going on that concerned Harry in some way. She wasn't going to let it go now.

"This is about Harry now isn't it? Please is he alright? Is he hurt? Has something happened to him? Please to tell me." At the end of Hermione's quick fire questions she trailed off slightly, knowing she had obviously overreached herself in demanding the Professors answer.

Surprisingly Professor McGonagall sighed. "I suppose in the end this will concern you two. You can come along then."

A snarl escaped Severus Snapes mouth at Professor McGonagall's offer. "McGonagall we don't have time for this. We must," Snape paused looking at both Hermione and her fellow prefects with distrust and continued in a deadly whisper. "We must get to the hospital wing as soon as possible."

Hermione's entire world seemed to tilt slightly sideways. _Harry was in danger! _"We're coming with you Professors. Right Ron?" She turned to look at her red headed friend. He had obviously come to the same conclusion if his pale face was any indication. Ron gave a shaky nod and together he and Hermione made to follow their head of house.

As both Professors Snape and McGonagall exited through the portal Hermione and Ron tailed after them barely keeping up without breaking into jogs. The pace of both Professors was nearly to the point of jogs themselves the swish of their robes the only sound to be heard down lonely corridors.

Nerves began to flare in Hermione as the group made the long journey to the Hospital Wing. The silence except for her, Ron's and the professors labored breathing was the only sound Hermione could here. There were no stone on stone scrapping as stairways rearranged themselve, no small wails from passing ghosts.

The total absence ghosts was what really alerted Hermione, something truly horrible had to have happened. Usually after a few corridors she would see a ghost or two passing through a neighboring way into another. At that moment, the overly boisterous noise of Peeves would have been welcomed.

Far more unsettling, the total lack of movement from the portraits that decorated Hogwarts castle. Usually Hermione could see movement in one or two portraits as she passed them by. Some would be visiting and sharing old story's with one another; others would be shouting encouragement to passing students. Now there was nothing.

The feeling of disquiet was building within Hermione as the group finally reached the Grand Staircase. She was right. The entire staircase, normally connecting and rearranging itself for unknown purposes, was utterly still.

Silently the two adults and two teenagers assailed the staircase; reaching the floor the Hospital Wing reside in. Not a word was spoken in reassurance by either Professors to their two charges as they moved down a hallway.

When the group finally reached the great oak doors of Madam Pomfrey's domain the group halted and Snap turned to address the two prefects. While a barely controlled snarl Snap let them know what was expected of them.

"You will not try to touch anything or speak while in there. While we work you are not to interfere, nor offer advice." At that Snape gave a barely noticeable glance in Hermione's direction. If she wasn't feeling such a nearly mind numbing amount of fear for Harry, she would have flushed in anger at Snape's insinuation.

Snape continued his verbal warning. "Understand if you do anything that might disrupt us; I will personally throw you both out and for the first time in a century Gryffindor House will be in the negatives. Am I clear?"

Hermione was too frightened to talk and she could only nod her head in agreement. Looking to where Ron was beside her, she saw the giant redhead do the same.

Professor McGonagall gave a clear cluck of annoyance at Snapes threat to her house charges. When Hermione looked looked at the woman's face she could tell the stern Headmistress wanted to have words with the greasy haired man. Turing away from what Snape probably thought of as "properly" cowed students, he walked forward and with a push, opened the door.

Both Professor's walked in first before either Ron or Hermione and as soon as they entered they both saw that the entire wing was empty; except for one bed. This single bed was surrounded by very single Professor in the school. From the brief glance Hermione could see, each teacher was using wand movements so complicated that they nearly boggled her mind. A small part of herself, that part eager for knowledge, was practically salivating at the sight.

What really drew Hermione's attention was the baby blue robed sight of Dumbledore sitting on a plump cushioned chair. The bespectacled man had a look of such intensity, she had never seen before. The Headmaster was sitting down reading an obviously tattered book that had seen significantly better days.

Startled from her inspection of the room Hermione felt the bony hand of her head of house guide her and Ron to a nearby bed. Comprehending the obvious hint that they were supposed to sit down; they did as they were instructed. Swiftly McGonagall left Hermione and Ron to their own devices. The Deputy Headmistress walked over to the bed and gave an audible gasp for stopping herself. The grey haired woman pulled out her wand and began her own incantations.

The feeling of distress was still growing within Hermione. She needed to know what was wrong with Harry. The more practical part of her knew, that if she made demands, Snape would without a doubt make good on his word. Not wanting to be thrown out the door Hermione did her best to study her surroundings; trying to ignore the gaggle of Professors.

Her eyes once again landed on the silent form of Dumbledore. As she studied the man new details began to jump out at her; only serving to enhance her anxiety. The Headmasters robs were not completely baby blue as Hermione had first thought. No, they were stained at the bottom and across most of the front with a dark brown stain. Even Dumbledore's hands seemed to be slightly covered in red brown masses. On his withered hand it was hard to tell, but his unaffected hand those patches were clear as day.

Her breath hitched in alarm and Hermione clutched at her throat to keep herself consciously breathing. She easily recognized exactly what those stains were, _blood._

A small patch opened up in the group of Professors as their wand waving stilled for a single moment. That single moment was all Hermione needed to see. What she saw made her blood chill and her mouth dry up. Through the gap Hermione saw, where a normal human arm should be, a glistening red stump stood in its place. Surrounding it were sheets stained in the color of crimson blood.

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**Your thoughts about what you did or didn't like are very important to me. I'm open to all criticism as long as it's well communicated. Although if you REALLY didn't like something PM me.**

**I hope everyone understands I've written Hermione like a teenage girl. She's an unbelievably smart teenage girl but she is still very young. If you feel I didn't write her character very well please let me know.**


	4. How the Mighty have Fallen

**I am going to state right now I have no ownership to Harry Potter.**

**With that said let me tell you right now my readers. This chapter was hard to write and is going to be harder for you to probably read. It touches on a very serious issues ****that I hope most of you are mature enough to deal with. If you are not and lose interest I will understand.**

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A girl stared forlornly at her on reflection from a lavatory mirror. Until just recently she bad been feverishly scrubbing the taste of salt from her mouth. She only stopped after catching a glimpse of her own reflection.

Eyes, just slightly too far apart to be considered beautiful gazed back. One eye was puffy and rapidly turning purple. The rest of her face had a swollen bloody appearance. Her eyes lowered and gazed at a normally flawless white neck.

Tentatively she touched dark purple bruises in the shape of cruel fingers. Already they had begun to yellow at the edges, but those bruises were minor compared to the rest of her body. Her womanhood howled in agony, at the mere memory of its past abuse. Looking up from her purple ringed throat she gazed at where her prized possession used to be.

"Why did they have to shave my hair," muttered Pansy Parkinson. "It was the only thing that was better than that mudblood."

Pansy's face crinkled in distaste as she looked at her bald head.

"I should have fought harder. Maybe they wouldn't have thought to shave my head."

"Then again," she spoke pensively. "They would probably have beaten in my teeth and not just my face and still shaved me for the trouble."

The memory of fists and feet crashing into her face and stomach made her shudder. That was the wrong thing to do as her entire body seemed to throb in response. Instantly tears sprang to the corners of her eyes.

"No! I can't cry again."

Crying was for the weak and powerless. She wasn't weak. Hardening her gaze she looked back in the mirror with defiance.

"I may have fallen, but I can get up."

To her own ears the words rung hollow. All sense of pride seemed to deflate.

"The question is, how the fuck do I get up after a fall like this?"

At her spoken thought Pansy could feel a whimper building in the back of her throat. She clutched the sink in front of her as tightly as possible. How was a person suppose to get up after a gang rape, lead by their supposed "friends"?

"Why did they do it?"

Pansy nearly jumped at the sound of her own voice. She hadn't sounded that pitiful since she had begged her father to protect her from the thunder. Even while she was disgusted with herself, Pansy already knew her answer.

"Damn you Malfoy! This was suppose to be our year! I was suppose to be your queen. We would have commanded the entire house and the you could have gotten the dark lord to give me the mark just like you. Why Draco?! Why did you have to throw me away in front of everyone?"

She trailed off pitifully, her fight to control her tears lost. Streams of hot salty tears gushed as her entire body heaved, even as she blubbered.

"I did everything you wanted! I was the perfect girlfriend. You wanted a shag then we shagged. I blew you whenever you wanted. I did everything you told me to. Why did you go to Greengrass?"

It was hard to think as she cried there in that bathroom. Her memories were swirling around in her head, so jumbled up she hardly knew right from left.

"You bastard we were going to let the first years know the peaking order together. You come up with that blonde whore of girl and you tell me to introduce the first years myswelf!?"

The feeling of hysteria was clouding her mind as she rambled on to no one.

"Both of you slinking off to some place; leaving me there standing, feeling like an idiot. You fuck!"

Pansy took in deep breaths trying to calm herself down. To keep herself from fainting from pain and exhaustion.

"I knew something wasn't right, but I still did as you told me. I told those first years their place and I ran to find you. I wish I hadn't."

Her tears were slowly stopping now. There was plenty of snot still poring from her swollen nose, but it wasn't so bad as before.

"You ungrateful demented fucker. You didn't think about me did you, Draco? You just ran off with Greengrass in hand and dropped your trousers? I can't believe you would do this to me. You threw me away in front of everyone. You didn't even give me a chance curse that bitch."

A feeling of clarity seemed to come over Pansy as she stood there weeping.

"Draco, you were waiting for me, weren't you? Even while she was sucking you off you were standing there waiting for me to come through the door. Fucker, you planned it all ahead and blasted me without even thinking."

She couldn't help letting out a breath of disappointment. Draco had never been a competent one when it came of wand work. He only beat her by being prepared.

"I don't know how you did it, but then you took everyone beneath me away too. Did they always like Daphne more than me to begin with? Did they always think I was an ugly pug faced bitch?"

A small sniffle escaped her lips as she remembered her "friends" biting words. She wanted to get back at Malfoy, but they had all flatly turned her down.

"Those cunts must have known how weak I was. They had to have known that Draco had as good as thrown me to the house dogs. They didn't want to risk getting the same."

Her grip on the sink wasn't as tight as it had been. She could feel herself growing a little more calm, her thoughts no longer felt like they were on racing brooms.

"Can't believe they did this to me. They could have at least said no. But no, every last one of you were there and you brought a few of your future husbands along for the party."

The thought of what they had considered a party threw her to a dark place she didn't want to be.

Crying for them to stop. Begging for them not to put it in there. She had threaten to bite and they had beaten it out of her. Both boys and girls hitting her everywhere they could reach. Cutting her cloths off while she screamed for mercy. Girls all around her laughing at her pain. The boys grunting in satisfaction as they threw their seed within. Roaring their approval as they spilt it on her face. They forced her mouth open and claimed her. All around her laughter. They wanted to see her broken, beating her again. She kept screaming. Why couldn't anyone hear her? Why wouldn't someone help her? They were hurting her and they wouldn't stop. They were raping her and laughed as she wailed for them to take it out. She pleaded with them. She would fuck anyone whenever they wanted, if only they would stop. They were hurting her!

Immediately Pansy raced to the nearest toilet and throwing up everything she had ever eaten or ever would. Clawing the memory away from her conscious thoughts Pansy took several steady breaths.

"At least I don't taste it anymore," she said aloud.

Getting up from where she knelt Pansy walked back to the sink and ran enough water so she could clean her mouth. Only when she finally tasted more water than bile, did she stop.

Again she looked in the mirror and knew she had best cover herself up. With her wand in hand she began the chant every pureblood daughter was taught to cover their hurts.

Slowly her purple and swollen skin became clear and pristine. While her cloths may have seemed a little worse for wear and a little haphazardly put on, she otherwise looked her normal self. Except she wasn't. Her face was a beaten mess and she was as bald as an old man.

Before she could stabilize her recently created glamour the bathroom door gave a shrieking squeal as it opened. A feeling of terror clawed itself up her throat, threatening to escape.

In an ungraceful dive Pansy hide within the nearest stall. As quietly as she could, she closed the door and drew her feet on top of the toilet. Hopefully no one would know the bathroom was already occupied. Whoever came in would do their business and leave.

Silently she mouthed a frantic prayer. "Please leave. Hurry and leave."

Her prayer was denied as an adjacent stall was opened. From where she was she could see robes slightly near where the front of the toilet must be.

The sounds of retching were clearly audible as soon as this new girl had entered the stall. Pansy's own heart beat furiously as she waited for the sounds to stop. They almost seemed to go on for an eternity before the sounds finally stopped. She was honestly surprised that the girl hadn't over filled the toilet.

When the sounds of liquid splashing finally stopped, the only thing Pansy heard was heavy labored breathing. Oddly, she could have sworn she recognized the voice. It almost sounded like that overly puffed up mudblood Granger. Her luck couldn't be so good, for it to actually be her.

Pansy was well aware of the old saying, that misery loves company. If there was one thing she was well familiar with, it was spreading her misery. There was no better target than Hermione Granger. That too pretty face deserved all the misery Pansy felt and more.

That mudblood bitch with her perfectly straight nose deserved it broken. Her flawless pale skin needed to be crisscrossed in pockmarks and overlaid with boils. That worthless insignificant whore didn't deserve her virtue still intact. She deserved to lose it flat on her stomach, wailing for it to stop.

There was no other person Pansy Parkinson hated and envied more than Hermione Granger.

The unknown girl slowly got to her feet and shuffled backward, apparently to the sinks.

"I guess she likes her mouth clean too," whispered Pansy absently.

As soon as she heard the splash of water from a running faucet, she slowly stepped down from her perch and peaked out her stall door. None other than the bushy brown hair of Granger starred back at her. A malicious grin spread across her face and she stepped across the threshold.

"Well Granger," she cooed. "What's wrong with you?"

Only for a single moment did Granger look up from washing her hands and face, then she glanced right back down. The mudblood had ignored her. That wasn't going to do at all. Not right now. She needed a reaction.

"Don't wanna talk huh? Well I wouldn't either if I had a bastard growing in my belly. From the sounds of it you got one." Pansy couldn't help herself, but cackle at her insult. "Let me guess. Did that blood traitor Weasely squirt it in you?"

There was still no response from the washing mudblood. Already Pansy could feel herself growing frustrated.

"Nah, it couldn't have been. That idiot's too stupid to know where put it anyway. I'll bet it was Potter who told you to drop your knickers and bend over. I bet he plowed you, like your whore of a mother gets every night."

She never registered the swish of movement; the only thing she saw was that the mudblood had her wand pointed at her. A sickly yellow line of light blasted at her and she was too stunned to even think of moving. It struck in the center of her fore head with the force of a hammer, wielded by a giant.

A sick white ringing seemed to cloud her mind as hard stone pressed itself into her side. Why was she on her side? She didn't remember falling.

Drunkenly she looked around for her wand. She spotted it only a little ways away from her outstretched hand. Slowly she tried to crawl toward it, to defend herself from another hex from Granger.

Suddenly a foot came crashing down on her extended forearm, pinning it. Writhing around, trying to make the foot let go, Pansy rolled onto her back to gaze into the threatening wand of the mudblood.

"Well what are you waiting for mudblood?" Pansy tried to seem unafraid as she was at the mercy of another, again. "Go ahead and hex me!"

The look on Hermione's face upset her more than being so easily beaten. It looked like the girl was pitying her. She didn't need that filthy girls pity!

"Stop looking at me like that," she bellowed. "What are you waiting for?"

"Pansy," spoke Hermione for the first time, her voice tremulous. "What happened to you?"

"What are you going on about? Are your eyes dirty along with that blood? Nothing's happened to me, except you!" Pansy knew she had her glamour. There was no way the one person she hated most could see her at her lowest.

Slowly Hermione removed her wand and pointed it at a bathroom mirror. With a twitch a single piece came flying toward her. Deftly Granger caught it, avoiding the sharp edges. Hesitantly the bitch turned it in her direction. It showed her true reflection. Her glamour, had failed.

Tears came unbidden to her eyes. She couldn't believe a person could hate themselves more than at any other possible moment. Of all the people to show her pity or even concern, it had to be that one misbegotten soul she hated most.

Why couldn't she have run out of tears? Why did she have to break down and weep in front of Granger, of all people?

"Stop looking at me," Pansy screamed. The pressure on her forearm vanished in an instant and the mudblood backed away several steps. Now Granger got to see how perfect she was compared to her. She was a bald, beaten mess; while that mudblood looked pristine.

All Pansy could do was curl into a ball and scream into her legs. For a while, that was all she did; as her mind ran in circles of hatred and self loathing.

The touch of a feather seemed to pull her from her ball of pain. She felt the lightest of touches on her shoulder. It was a feeling almost alien to her. There hadn't been such a soft touch since she was a child. She looked up, snot and tears covering her face.

"Pansy, please stop crying," came the gentle words of Granger. "I'm going to take you to Professor McGonagall and we'll get this sorted out."

With a soft hiccup Pansy could only laugh.

"What do you think she's gonna do? I'm not part of your house and I don't need your charity!" At that last sentence she said it with as much venom as she could muster. It sounded more like a watery yowl than an actual voice.

"Pansy," said Hermione. "She's also the deputy Headmistress. She is bound to do something." Obviously, Granger meant her voice to be reassuring, but to Pansy it was placating. She couldn't help, but feel insulted.

Uncurling from her tight little ball, Pansy shoved the girls helping hand away. She could stand on her own.

"Fine, Granger. Let's go see your precious McGonagall." The mocking tone of her voice said clearly what she thought of this.

Getting on her hands and knees, she slowly got up on two unsteady legs. Both legs felt like they had just been hexed into uselessness. She could barely support her own weight.

She staggered forward a few paces and pushed the lavatory door open with Granger hot on her heels.

"Well Granger, lead on," said Pansy with her arm pointing forward.

For a moment both she and Granger stood there not saying words. The look on that mudblood's was the same. It made a fire of rage grow inside her. She didn't want that bitch's pity.

Hermione went in the opposite direction of Pansy's arm.

"Okay, follow me. You can walk, right?"

"Of course I can walk, Granger. How far away is your bloody professors office anyway?"

Pansy didn't want the entire trip to be in silence. If it was quiet she was very liable to scream. Hermione's voice was slightly muffled out in front, but it echoed well enough, in the deserted corridor.

"It's not far from here. We just have to go up a floor."

That sent a tendril of dread down Pansy's spin. She could barely keep up with the mudblood; tackling stairs was going to be nearly impossible. Gritting her teeth, she would do it, if only so Granger wouldn't see her weak. After telling her roughly where McGonagall's office was they remained in uncomfortable silence until they reached the stairs.

It wasn't the grand staircase, thankfully. There were no constantly moving stairs rearranging themselves. Just one stairwell. It might as well be a torture straight from hell.

There were no candles or torches to provide light here, only regularly spaced small windows, that let in the soft morning light. The light pained Pansy's eyes. How long had she been awake? She had passed out from the ordeal for a time, but she never thought it was for so long.

"Granger," commanded the bald girl. "What time is it?"

The mudblood was already halfway up the stair way and looked back at Pansy's stationary form.

"It's eight in the morning." Hermione paused for a moment. Pansy could feel her eyes narrowing. "Why?"

"I was just curious, that's all. Are classes cancelled?"

She asked to keep the silence broken and so Granger wouldn't hear her whimpers as she picked herself up the stairs.

"Yes, they are. How come you didn't know that?"

With one painful step in front of the other Pansy walked up the stairs; Ears listening for Granger.

"None of your business," she retorted angrily . In no way, was she going to tell that mudblood what happened. Suffering that kind of humiliation, was beyond anything she could stand.

"Even if you're not going to tell me. You're going to have to tell McGonagall."

It was hard to breath when she finally the top of the stairs and Granger was standing there with both her hands perched on hips. No wonder that old bat of a transfiguration teacher made her a prefect. Capable of projecting a palpable aura of authority; she made Pansy's past attempts pale in comparison.

"Maybe I won't, Granger. Which way then?"

The bushy haired girl shook her head in what must have been consternation. With a perfectly pale pink arm Granger pointed her to the right and Pansy shuffled as directed. A small shake was building in her legs; Pansy could feel herself beginning to flag under the continued exercise.

They passed by several portraits on their journey and most seemed to heavily gossiping with one another. That was extremely odd to Pansy's bald head. Most portraits didn't start jumping around till much later in the day. What the hell happened while she was occupied? So lost in thought, over this oddity, she barely noticed the tugging sensation from Granger.

"Pansy," said Granger. "I want you to sit here while I talk to McGonagall." Her voice was gentle. It made Pansy want to hit her.

Nodding in understanding Pansy turned, as directed, to see the most uncomfortable looking bench she had ever seen. The wood, so old it might crumple at a touch and looked like it was carved by a blind man.

Suffering the indignity in silence Pansy sate down, hard. The unyielding wood reminded her womanhood again what it had suffered through. She couldn't help as a hiss of pain escaped her lips.

The look Granger sent her was damning. It was almost certain Granger suspected what had happened to her. That made the whole situation all the more shameful.

"I'll be right back Parkinson," whispered Granger. At least that's what Pansy thought she did. It was strangely hard to hear her. A peculiar fuzziness had started to come over her mind. She was so tired.

The creaking of well oiled hinges told Pansy the mudblood had opened the door next her. It didn't close all the way as soon as Granger had entered, letting her hear everything that was said in the office.

"Excuse me Professor McGonagall," said Granger, clearly nervous. "I need to talk to you."

"Oh yes, Miss Granger. Has his condition changed?" Oddly the Transfiguration teacher sounded exhausted.

Apparently Granger was very nervous because she began talking so fast Pansy could barely follow. "Well, no Professor. I need to talk to you about something else. I went to the bathroom and I found Pansy crying her eyes out. She's really hurt. I think," Pansy could feel Granger physically swallow before continuing. "I think someone really hurt her."

What a typical mudblood this girl was. Completely unable to say exactly what she had to know must have happened. She had been raped there was no way to down play it.

"You say Miss Parkinson has been hurt? I trust you brought her with you." The Deputy Headmistress sounded almost bored with the conversation.

"Of course Professor. She's right outside."

The sound of wood scraping on stone could be clearly heard as the Professor stood up. A few clicks of heels on solid stone and the office door opened to the stern faced figure of Minerva McGonagall followed closely by Granger.

"Well girl let me take a look at you then."

Hesitantly she looked into the steely eyed gaze of McGonagall. From those eyes Pansy saw exactly what she had expected to see. No pity. If she had been from Gryffindor or any other house there might have been some.

"Miss Granger, I want you to take Miss Parkinson to the hospital Wing and have Madam Pomfrey treat her."

This wasn't the action Granger had expected her precious Professor to take. "But, Professor McGonagall what about..."

Before she could even voice her question McGonagall swiftly cut her off. "I will hear no more of this Miss Granger. You will take Miss Parkinson to the Hospital Wing, now."

Turning around, McGonagall entered her office with a slight slam of the door.

She couldn't help, but savor the moment of utter confusion on Granger's face. While the mudblood was trying to help, it was unheard of for her to look so off balance. Then her face hardened and her eyes narrowed and she turned to look at Pansy.

"I guess I'll take you to Madam Pomfrey."

"You see Granger, she wasn't going to help me anyway," murmured Pansy. The bench was starting to feel unbelievably comfortable to her addled mind.

Granger reached down and bodily hauled her up from the bench. The thought of protesting, didn't even occur to her as Granger looped an arm around her side and began to walk/carry her to the Hospital Wing.

The trip to Pomfrey was oddly short to Pansy. Everything seemed to go black at moments and then she would find herself being hauled through a different part of the castle. If Granger carried her up a flight of stairs she didn't know. The only thing she knew was that the welcoming white sheet beds of the Hospital Wing were right in front of her.

The feeling of soft fabric on her cheek let her know that she had been placed on one of the beds.

"Pansy," said Granger in a low mumble, "I need you to stay awake. Pomfrey is here and she's going to look you over. Okay?"

"I don't wanna," drowsily murmured Pansy. She barely heard Granger say, "stay awake."

"Miss Parkinson," came the firm of voice of Pomfrey. "I will be judging the extent of your injuries. I am going to remove some of your uniform."

That jolted her awake like the slice of the Cruciatus curse. She was not going to let anyone undress her again. Her body may be too weak to do anything, but she could scream.

The feeling of soft hands touching the top of her pleated skirt provoked an instant reaction. A scream issued from her mouth that would have woken the dead. The hand had jerked away, but the memory of other hands, assaulted her senses.

Warm slimy hands caressing her bosom; cupping her womanhood. Whispers of horror. The feeling of spittle and the seed of men being smeared as she cried. The smell of sweat and the taste of salt, from violation, permeated everything.

It was too much for her mind. She had to curl up and scream. Even with her eyes closed tight she still saw the glow of red as it flashed, then she knew no more.

* * *

The sun had long set when Dumbledore, the old fool, had announced throughout the school that they were all to go back to their houses. She had been in her astronomy class along with a few other Slytherions. Thankfully none of them were Draco or her former friends.

While she had thought the man a senile old fool Pansy, like the rest of the students in her class, packed their things and rushed out the door. Easily the first to leave the room she rushed as fast as she could to the dungeons. It would be very stupid to be the last to enter the common room.

What she had not expected, as she made her insane dash, was running into Draco. He was just standing there, his shiny blonde hair just as she remembered it.

"Draco," said a winded Pansy. She could feel a rosy blush in her cheeks. He may have thrown her away, but she still genuinely cared about him. Jumping slightly he whipped around to face her.

"Oh, 'ello Pansy." He gave her one of his more winning smiles. They always could make her heart flutter.

"What are you doing here Draco?"

The look he gave her was slightly guilty. He had only just started to open his mouth to answer when she heard a high feminine voice behind her.

"Draco we didn't...Well if it's not the little doggy Parkinson," said Daphne Greengrass.

Spinning about so fast she cracked her neck, she spotted Greengrass directly behind her. Unbeknownst to Pansy, Greengrass and her former gang, along with several boys had appeared directly behind her. Each of them had drawn their wands and were pointing them directly at her.

The face of Daphne didn't hold a leer like the boys or a malicious smile like some of the girls. She looked cold and calculating as she gazed at a trapped Pansy.

"Trying to reclaim Malfoy, Parkinson?" Daphne's voice was cool as she spoke. "I don't think so."

A jet of purple light issued from her upraised wand, striking Pansy in the chest. All control she felt in her legs left as they collapsed of their own accord.

"You two," ordered Daphne pointing at two of the larger boys. "Grab her. I've got an idea."

Quickly two of the boys, more guerrilla than human, jumped to her command. She found herself swiftly hauled up, like a sack of flour, by both arms.

"Let me go," shouted Pansy as they manhandled her in front of Daphne.

"I don't think so Parkinson. You all remember that old classroom that Quirrel used to teach in right? That's close by lets go there. Parkinson needs a stiff talking to." For the first time she saw Daphne smile. It was a chilly smile, totally unsuited for her face.

She could feel her terror rising at the idea of being trapped in a room with Greengrass and her new cohorts. Both boys turned and began to drag her to their destination. Behind them the gaggle of girls and boys started to chat amongst themselves about what kind of curse Greengrass would use.

Valiantly she tried to struggle and break free from her captors, but her legs would still not obey her commands. When they finally reached an unused door she opened her mouth to scream as violently as possible. WHAM! An object of considerable strength struck the side of her head, throwing all notions of screaming to the wind.

"Now, now, none of that Parkinson. A dog must suffer, if ever they are to learn."

With that Greengrass walked around the boys and with a small push opened the door into the black beyond.

From the darkness, unseen hands reached out and ripped her from the grasp of her captors. They drew her into the waiting classroom even as she screamed and clawed the stone. Wet, liquid voices spoke all around her.

"We're gonna have some fun with you."

"She's got a pretty mouth. It'd be a pity if it wasn't used."

"I can't believe Draco hogged this nice arse to himself."

"You like that don't you, cunt. You love it!"

"So this is what a girl feels like?"

"Scream a little more for me. It's music to my ears."

"I love it when they cry."

"Ugh she's got a hairy cunt. I can fix that right quick."

"I bet she's never had anything up the bum. Lets give'er a go."

"You look like a bitch in heat!"

_Oh god, please stop! You're hurting me!_

"Stop your sniveling and get to work!"

"What a filthy cunt this ones got!"

"You're the tightest I've ever had."

_Please, someone! Help me!_

"You deserve this."

* * *

With a shriek of denial Pansy Parkinson awoke in a soft feather bed. She sat up right with a jerk, letting the thin cotton sheet fall off her nearly nude body.

When her ragged breathing began to finally slow down did she finally begin to sob. The tiny body shook violently as the memories, again, assaulted her mind.

"I shouldn't have tried to talk to him. It's my fault. If I just hadn't been so stupid, this wouldn't have happened."

The words brought no comfort to her as she sat there.

"Where the hell's Pomfrey," she muttered. Usually the slightly overbearing school nurse was within spitting distance of anyone in the Hospital Wing.

Only when looking around for any sign of the elderly woman, did she realize how dark it was. It had to be well best midnight by now.

"I guess she's asleep." Laying down, she tried to close her eyes and will herself to sleep.

Instead of darkness behind her eyes violent images flashed. Immediately her eyes popped back open, unable to even dream of sleeping.

Pansy laid there on the soft mattress and starred at the ceiling. The only good thing at that moment was her body no longer constantly throbbed.

"At least I don't hurt anymore. I hope Pomfrey has a contraceptive lying around here. I am _not_ going to marry one of those bastards."

If she were really honest with herself, she would slit her own wrists before being compelled to marry anyone.

For a time, that was all she thought about. The multitude of options available to her, if she was indeed with child, were rather limited. Thinking about her options was certainly better than laying there, in the dark, with nothing but the voices in her own head for comfort.

_You deserved it._

That particular voice prowled the labyrinth of her mind constantly. If she didn't feel as if it were completely right she might have started screaming again.

Tossing and turning, she tried to make the voice stop it's incessant chatter. It didn't really help much.

The entire Hospital Wing was just too quiet for her liking. Its silence made her feel as if there was something waiting in the darkness. Here she was on her side, defenseless.

Jerking away the sheets covering her, she stuck her legs out over the bed and stepped onto the cold stone floor. Apparently Madam Pomfrey had seen fit to completely undress her. Right now she was dressed in a nearly see through linen dressing gown.

It was so quiet. Walking back and forth across the stone floor actually proved very comforting. That was all she did as the silence remained unbroken.

Her heart was no longer beating furiously and the voice of blame was quieter now. Looking around she saw that she wasn't the only one in the Hospital Wing. Two beds directly opposite of her own were occupied.

The shriek she gave when she woke up had not apparently disturbed either of their occupants. It was was not to be surprised at how a big a heavy sleeper they both must be.

Quietly stepping over to the nearest bed she saw the unmistakable bushy brown haired head of Granger, fast asleep. All over the bed were scattered books with titles she had never heard of. Some were partly open, while others had small pieces of paper sticking out that must indicate a particularly interesting passage.

Typical mudblood Granger. Even in a place for the sick, the muggleborn couldn't stop herself from reading. Why did Granger go out of her way to bring her here? If she had been in Granger's shoes she would have left her there in the bathroom. That's what any other witch would have done; a wizard would have done much worse.

Did she want something from Pansy? Did she expect her to bow before the almighty and benevolent mudblood? If she did then she had another thing coming. Still, what did the girl expect to get from this act of charity?

Pushing those thoughts aside, she looked to the other bed and its tenant. All she saw was black hair and an extremely pale face. The person, whoever it was, still breathed small shallow breaths.

Gingerly, she tiptoed around the bed with Granger and walked over to see who had the messy black hair. When she drew close enough she made out a lighting shaped scar and recognized that pale face for who it was.

Harry Potter, scar face, the-boy-who-lived, the dark lords greatest enemy, was right now defenseless sleeping soundly on a feather bed. The boys mouth was slightly open his breathing shallow, but deeper then Grangers had been.

It would be so easy to cover his mouth and nose. In a single fell swoop she could have the dark lords favor with the squashing of a single life. Could she do it?

Hesitantly she reached down, her hand perfectly cupped. Potter stirred lightly in his sleep; it seemed even heroes could have restless dreams.

Her hand was so close to his mouth she could feel the heat of his breath as he exhaled. He was right there! Perfect for the plucking!

"I'm sorry," came a muffled whisper.

In a flash her hand stopped before it could engulf his mouth. What did he have to be sorry for? He had done nothing wrong. Then why did the dark lord want him dead?

He was a threat to he-who-must-not-be-named so that meant he had to die. Didn't it?

Even if she did stifle Potter, what good would it do her? Sure, she would gain the dark lords favor and he would probably bestow her his mark; but it was well known that the dark lord was a finicky master. His favor could disappear as if it had never existed to begin with.

Where would she be then? Would she be forced to marry one of the dark lords inner circle? She didn't want to do that now. The mere thought of the marriage night made shudders run down her spin.

What did she want now? Could she even have anything? Her goods were worn out now. It was probably already well known what had happened in the slytherion common room. Every respectable Pureblood family would know that she was worthless.

Falling back slightly, Pansy's now unbruised bottom hit an unoccupied mattress with a soft thump. So many thoughts were streaming across her mind, she didn't know where to begin.

She laid her head down on a soft pillow and starred at Potters face. What did she do? What could she do? What should she do? All she could do was stare at the boys face and think and question and blink. She did that till rays of newborn light began to filter in through the Hospital Wing's windows.

* * *

**I want to thank everyone who has read so far and thank them for their continued support. **

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**If you didn't like what happened then please say as much.**


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